I glanced over to the table beside me a few minutes ago and noticed my spring garden catalog, partially hidden behind the computer monitor where I had tossed it a few days ago.
From where I sat, my vision of next summer's planting took on a whole new perspective.
As I giggled at the silliness, my mind wandered to the years I attended sports shows a couple decades ago in Minneapolis. At one particular intersection on Stinson Blvd. that I drove daily a sign advertised a business, apparently a small home-based enterprise operated by Violet who sold curtains and such.
With amazing regularity I was the first vehicle stopped at the red light there where a utility pole obscured a small piece of the sign that now read, "Violet's raperies".
And I always wondered if Violet had ever been stopped in her car at that intersection when the traffic light turned red.
From where I sat, my vision of next summer's planting took on a whole new perspective.
As I giggled at the silliness, my mind wandered to the years I attended sports shows a couple decades ago in Minneapolis. At one particular intersection on Stinson Blvd. that I drove daily a sign advertised a business, apparently a small home-based enterprise operated by Violet who sold curtains and such.
With amazing regularity I was the first vehicle stopped at the red light there where a utility pole obscured a small piece of the sign that now read, "Violet's raperies".
And I always wondered if Violet had ever been stopped in her car at that intersection when the traffic light turned red.
